


Winona tries to build a bigass tent, thinks about things, learns to ask for help on occasion, and almost passes out in relief at finishing something, the fic

by kusege



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling, Found Family, Gen, Oh yeah also say hi to two wilsons, Really this fic is about being way too hard on yourself and projecting that onto others, STEM kid feels, This is kinda a clusterfuck, Winona is autistic, as she always is in my fics, cival and vale, emotional angst, im sick of tagging it’s so fucking hard I’m just posting this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22653868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kusege/pseuds/kusege
Summary: “Spider silk isn’t exactly a resource the camp is swimming in, and while she could, in theory, ask Webber, she really doesn’t want to. That conversation feels too awkward to have. So instead, Winona spends a few days killing spider after spider, because she wants a communal sleeping tent, damnit.“The title pretty much says it all.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Winona tries to build a bigass tent, thinks about things, learns to ask for help on occasion, and almost passes out in relief at finishing something, the fic

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [oh dear god how many people are in that damn tent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22644487) by [Stabbsworth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth). 



> Picks up straight from Stabbsworth’s “oh dear god how many people are in that damn tent”, but can be read alone if you insist. Except, unlike that fic, which has relatively no feelings bullshit and is short and sweet, this fic has entirely too much angst and emotional turmoil for a fic about someone making a fucking tent. Anyways enjoy!

The first big issue she runs into is the silk.

Spider silk isn’t exactly a resource the camp is swimming in, and while she could, in theory, ask Webber, she really doesn’t want to. That conversation feels too awkward to have. So instead, Winona spends a few days killing spider after spider, because she wants a communal sleeping tent, damnit.

It’s on the third day, when she’s mournfully reminiscing on building a blanket fort and the total lack of death involved in creating one, that she realizes that she could, also in theory, have asked to take apart everyone’s current tents to make the communal one. This idea is instantly shut down for being too uncomfortable, and it’s another day and a half before she returns to camp with a hopefully sufficient amount of silk and far too much monster meat. (The amount of glands is reasonable, given the number of idiots in the camp who like to cheerfully announce “I am going to make a mistake” before doing something stupid and injuring themselves. She’s not sure how they’ve survived this long.)

After another day - mostly spent twisting rope and cursing at the silk that won’t get off her hands (she hates messing with it, it can be so sticky and rough and it makes her itchy and she really, really wants to be making a fucking blanket fort right now) - she can actually finally start working on the actual tent. 

Unfortunately, that part isn’t easy, either.

It’s been two and a half days, and she’s standing in the center of her fifth prototype (sixth if you count last night’s throwing-everything-into-a-pile-and-screaming-at-the-sky-breakdown creation as a legitimate attempt) which, just like all the others, has collapsed into a heap of junk and failed dreams. Winona is trying very hard not to burst into tears.

Cival’s presence isn’t helping. She knows he means well - or, actually, just isn’t being actively malicious, he’s napping under a nearby tree with a hunk of gold in his arms - but the very fact that he’s physically there, that his eyes could fall on this disaster and he could call her out for failing at this stupid, simple task that she’s supposed to get done is upsetting her. 

_ He would never do that to me, _ she tells herself as she gathers up the poles and lays them next to each other.  _ He isn’t that mean and you know it, _ she insists, coiling up the lengths of rope.  _ You’re making things up again, _ she thinks, folding up the silk sheet.

“Putting the tent together is  _ the best part _ of camping,” she says through gritted teeth as she pulls out her plans. They were once so clean, clear lines drawn in charcoal. Now they’re messy, ripped on a spot or two, coal dust and dirt and a little bit of hound blood making them difficult to read. Not that it matters, since they’ve been absolutely no help.

She mutters to herself as she gives up on the paper and starts scribbling notes down on her overalls. Ideas come to her and get tossed out just as quickly. No, she can’t have a center pole hold everything up, it’s too precarious. Prototype three proved that. Yes, the lantern is a necessity. No, there isn’t a less slippery alternative to the silk. No, she isn’t going to ask anyone for help. 

Winona half wants to scream and throw something, but instead takes her bandana off. She begins winding it around her fingers. The comforting pressure and pinch of fabric on skin helps her breathe easier, and if she thinks very hard, she can wipe out her current feelings of disappointment and self-loathing.

Perhaps not surprisingly, she winds up thinking of camping. A pleasant summer day spent running around looking at rocks and weird bugs and getting about a thousand ticks on her. Dragging Charlie to go see a waterfall that she found in the woods; the hike she had complained about all the way there but said was worth it once she saw the falls. Pleading with her dad to let her stay the night outside. Putting up a tent without his help, and being so proud when he came over to assist.

She knows she  _ can _ do this. That’s easily the most infuriating part. She’s perfectly capable of it, but for some reason, her hands and her brain and the materials are failing her. There’s a way to do this, it’s just  _ barely _ out of reach, why hasn’t she figured it out by now, she’s so close, and she’s smart, so why, why,  _ why- _

Winona’s hands clench around the bandana as she screams through her teeth. So much for self-control.

“...Hell, luvvie, you could’nt’a done that any quieter?”

Ah. And she’s woken Cival. Things just keep getting better. 

Winona sighs and stares down at the ground, resuming her anxious bandana fidgeting. “Sorry to wake you up, I just... had to get that out of my system. You can go back to sleep now.” Around her pointer finger, around that and her middle finger, then both and the ring one, then the whole hand, then unwind.

“You’re st’ll workin’n that?” Cival’s groggy tone means it takes her a second too long to parse the actual question. Her fists clench again. Then, with a deep breath and a lot of effort, they relax.

Pointer finger. “Yeah, unfortunately it’s takin’ a good minute.” That and her middle finger. “I swear, I’m close to gettin’ it.” Then the ring one. “Last one almost stood for a good three seconds.” Whole hand. “I feel like I’m just missin somethin’.” Unravel.

Cival hums in a way that makes it hard to tell if he was listening or not. Winona’s not sure which one she would rather he be doing. “You think y’might need a break there?”

“No.”

His skeptical glance tells Winona that she is probably going to lose this argument. “I know, y’don’t do breaks, but you’ve been working on this for over a week straight. Y’gotta clear your head, luvvie.”

Winona sighs and rubs at her forehead. “I’m real close, Civ. I can’t quit now.”

“.... don’t make me go get a mandrake. It’ll just meep at you nonstop, and then you won’t be able to get anything done.”

“You monster,” she says, with a smile, defeat in her tone, and no malice. “I guess I’ll have to sit down, hm?”

Cival’s response is a churr and relaxing onto his elbows, which she supposes means yes. At least he doesn’t mind.

She plops her butt down next to him and stares up at the tree’s branches. They sway, very slightly, in the breeze. It’s a good thing that winds don’t often get high here, or else she’d be struggling with tents even more. Neither of them say anything for a good ten minutes. Slowly, thoughts of support and sleeping room and maximization of resources start to fade. Winona takes a deep breath, and it only shudders a little. If Cival notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Time keeps passing. She’s not sure how much, she’s not really keeping track. The tree’s bark is rough on the back of her head, through her shirt, and she starts rocking her head back and forth to feel the texture rub against her scalp. It’s very calming. 

She opens her eyes when Cival pokes at her shoulder. They closed at some point, apparently. She must have been really relaxed. “Yes?”

“Eat something.” He drops some trail mix into her hand and stares at her expectantly. It seems like that’s all he’s going to say.

Well, she guesses she is kinda hungry, and if she’s already taking a break, it can’t hurt. Winona starts eating with one hand, using the other to give Cival head scratches. He starts purring pleasantly, and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her face. Even if she can’t get her stupid builds to work, at least this is alright. 

Despite herself, she remembers the blanket fort.

Things do tend to turn out better when she has somebody else around. Just to keep her from quitting.

“Hey, Civ?”

A  _ mrrp. _ She’ll take it.

“Any suggestions on how to get this tent to work? It keeps fallin’ under its own weight, the rope doe’n’t grip the fabric enough.”

Cival is silent, possibly in thought. Winona really can’t tell. At least he isn’t impatient for her to get back to work and repeatedly suggesting she “build better”. Six year olds are... interesting.

“‘Ve you tried your tape? Sounds like the kinda thing you could… use that for.”

Oh. Oh, she’s a  _ dumbass. _

She stands up instantly, to an unhappy noise from Cival as his head falls from her lap to the hardened dirt. “Rude,” he mutters, curling up around his gold nugget again. 

Her head is whirring with inspiration as she ties her bandana back on. She’s  _ such _ a  _ fucking  _ dumbass and she’s  _ so _ ready to get this build  _ fucking _ over with.

The next few hours are a bit of an ecstatic blur. She thinks she might start giggling hysterically at some point. When she surfaces, her hands are covered in rope burns and tiny cuts, probably from stray silks. Her throat is dry, there’s an insistent pain behind her right eye, and the tent is  _ fucking done. _

Winona throws her head back, starting to whoop and cheer loudly. She starts to cough as she tries to take another breath, and winds up spitting out a bloody glob of spit. Oh. She definitely bit her cheek. That’s not especially comfortable, and while she could heal it, spider guts, shockingly, do not taste good. She’ll have to leave that be.

And oh. Vale is staring at her from a few feet away. She wonders how long he’s been there. 

“Hey, Vale.” Winona meets his eye before looking away again. “I, uh. Got the tent to work.” Why is she sweating? It’s cold.

“I can see that,” he says, tone kinder than the statement really deserves. “Should I go get everyone else?”

“You can.” She squeezes her hands together nervously. “Does it... look good?”

“It looks just fine.”

“Mmkay.”

“You go sit inside, alright? It’s almost night anyways. You should get some rest, you deserve it.”

Winona would like to argue with that sentiment, but it has been over a week since she slept, and her head is killing her. She nods and steps inside her latest creation.

The poles turn the walls into a perfect hexagon, the ceiling just high enough for her to stand upright. The ropes that aren’t holding poles together are pulled taut and buried in the ground, keeping the center of the tent from tagging and suspending a lantern. Her tape is everywhere, she thinks she went through four rolls making this. There’s probably room for … ten? People to sleep in here. More if they start cuddling up to each other. It’s nearly perfect - she thinks she tied that knot backwards, and the silk isn’t nearly as durable as it would have been if she’d gotten this to work the first time - but there’s no way to fix it without taking it all apart, and she’d rather tear her eyes out than do  _ that. _

Winona passes out just inside the entrance, right on the ground, meaning everyone else has to step around her once Vale brings them back. She wakes up with a vague memory of dreaming about blankets, and candlelight, and her sister giggling in the middle of the night. She also wakes up with Webber’s back pressing into hers and the steady breaths of the rest of the camp surrounding her.

The communal sleeping tent is officially a success. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed the fic, it keeps me alive and writing.


End file.
